Chapter 34

When Buffy finally deemed to open her eyes, she knew she was alone in bed. She didn’t need to see that Spike was gone, the lack of a tingling sensation along the back of her neck indicated that the vampire was nowhere nearby. The slayer stretched – the kind that came from getting a full night’s rest – when it came to her.

The slayer didn’t overanalyze Spike’s actions, and why he’d made her stay with him. The memory was something out of a fairytale, and she’d prefer to keep the vampire’s softer moment to herself. Cherish it, rather than pick it apart and look for any hidden meaning.

Clutching the sheets to her chest, she sat up, her eyes scanning the room as she hunted for something to cover herself with so that she could preserve her modesty as she slipped through the room’s connecting door into her own, where, no doubt, her maid was waiting for her to appear. The only thing she encountered was her red dress laying across the chair where Spike had placed it last night, or earlier this morning, since it was well after midnight when they’d returned home. She thought to slip on her undergarments, but they were in a tattered heap upon the floor, the material not given the same courtesy as her crimson dress.

‘Like undergarments weren’t as hard to come by,’ the slayer thought as she rolled her eyes. ‘He keeps this up, I’ll have nothing to wear beneath my gowns.’

Signing in resignation, she crawled out of bed, pulling the sheet with her to wrap toga-style about her frame to provide some hint of decency as she made her way back to her room.

~*~*~*~*~

Her morning toiletries seen to, Buffy rushed from her room and down the stairs. Although she’d enjoyed the uninterrupted sleep and felt quite refreshed, her body made known its desire for sustenance. And, she just prayed that cook wouldn’t mind altering her schedule slightly to feed her. Mrs. Wadsworth ruled her domain with a sharp hand and an even sharper rolling pin, and Buffy hated to disrupt the woman’s pattern by having the cook go out of her way to provide her with something to eat, especially when it was due to her own tardiness…even if said tardiness was her husband’s fault.

She needn’t have worried however, for as she neared the kitchens and stuck her head inside, the fragrant scent of herb-flavored stew bombarded her nostrils, and the slayer breathed deeply, eyes closing in anticipation of the forthcoming meal. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and Buffy blushed prettily as the cook noticed her presence.

“Ahhh, I see yo’r up, just like the master said you’d be,” Mrs. Wadsworth announced by way of a greeting.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’d actually just come down to see if there’d been any leftovers from breakfast, seeing as I’d overslept.”

The cook snorted. “As if I’d feed my mistress table scraps. The very idea. No…you’ll be getting a proper meal.”

“Oh…I don’t want to put you to the trouble.”

“Nonsense. Truth be known, we’re used to holding meals till round this time,” the cook confided. Seeing the understanding in the girl’s eyes, she nodded. “Had the staff in a dither, you did, rising with the dawn like you were,” she whispered conspiratorially.

Buffy smiled back.

“Now, run along and tell that husband of yours that dinner will be ready momentarily.”

The slayer nodded and left the kitchen, her destination: Spike’s study – knowing that was where the vampire was probably holed up. Her assessment was right, because as she neared, she could feel the pricklies start along the back of her neck. Only, he wasn’t the only one inside, and she hesitated to interrupt him.

Still…

The cook had charged her with announcing dinner.

Although determined in her task, her knock was rather soft upon the door. She heard Spike’s terse, “Come in,” and eased the door open. His features showed his surprise at seeing her. Maybe he thought she was someone else?

“Kitten! Sorry, luv. Didn’t mean to snap. Thought you were someone else,” he told her.

Buffy walked to his side, greeting the two men – vampires – that were with her husband with a slight smile. They looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place them. Before she could really think on it, Spike had her in his arms and was ravaging her lips. His kiss possessive and carnal, oblivious to the others in the room. She soon forgot them, as well, melting into his embrace as his tongue slipped between her parted lips. It was over before she knew it, and as she remembered where she was – and who was in the room – her face flaming in embarrassment.

From her position tucked along his side, Buffy turned her head to peek beneath her lowered lashes to look at the others. Neither seemed disgusted with her public show of affection for her husband; if anything, they both seemed amused at the master vampire’s possessiveness.

“Something you needed, pet?” Spike asked, drawing her attention away from the others and back to him.

“Huh? Oh, yes…Mrs. Wadsworth, the cook…she says dinner is almost ready.” Verbalizing said meal caused her stomach to rumble yet again. Damn, she was really hungry!

Spike looked up at Clayton and Alric, shocked that he’d momentarily disregarding his guests while he ravished his wife. Unfortunately, as much as he didn’t want it to, she had that effect on him. Made him forget himself, and concentrate solely on her.

“We’ll be along in a moment.”

Buffy nodded and slipped from his side, encountering the other two as she made to leave the room. It dawned on her then, where she’d seen them. They’d been the ones to save her, when she’d been too shocked to save herself. These demons had been her saviors, protecting her from the brutish human males that would have raped and possibly killed her.

She stopped before the older of the two, the glasses he wore doing nothing to distract from his handsome good looks. While no Spike, the man could easily have any woman he wanted, if he so chose. Buffy took his hand, smiling to reassure the vampire, who had started to twitch under her direct stare. Behind his desk, her husband growled possessively, and she flung an eye roll over her shoulder before turning back to the others.

“Thank you. Both of you,” she told them, her gaze shifting from one to the other. They looked at her questioningly, so Buffy clarified. “For the other night. For saving me from those…those men.”

“It was our honor to do so, m’lady,” Clayton replied, his expression gravely serious.

The slayer nodded at them, then stepped away, her mind mulling what he hadn’t said as she made her way to the dining room. Strangely, she couldn’t find it in her to regret – or even care about – their deaths. Oh, she knew as surely as she lived and breathed that the men that had touched her were dead. Had probably been killed not long after she’d been led away and towards the Marchioness’ home.

~*~*~*~*~

Dinner was a quiet affair, and for the most part, Buffy let the conversation flow around her. As she ate her meal – which was delicious, the cook having outdone herself yet again – she silently contemplated asking Spike about spending her afternoons with Renee. And, in the time-honed tradition of children everywhere, she asked her husband while guests were present, so as to avert a scene.

But the master vampire surprised her, so much so, that he teased her about his supposed overbearing nature in front of the others. His quick agreement to her request had floored her, even if her request had been vague enough to prevent him from knowing the real reason for wanting to spend her afternoons with the Marchioness.

It boiled down to a pride thing. Here Spike was, settling into this role the Powers had allotted him, and he’d easily adapted to the situation. Playing the part of a titled gentleman as if he’d been born to it. True, she wasn’t sure about his past – maybe he had been nobility before he’d been turned. It was a topic that had never come up.

Then, there was she. Just plain old Buffy. No special skills except killing demons with sass and flair, a ready quip as they expired into dust or goo. Now, those skills were practically useless. Well, not so much useless, as not needed. The vampires here seemed to have a much better control of their demons. The slayer had yet to hear the first cry for help. Most seemingly content to drink their blood from the goblets before them.

They also ate. Real food. And seemed to enjoy it.

It boggled the mind.

So, here she was. A slayer, only not. Her only saving grace the fact that she was the first human they’d seen claimed by a vampire. It didn’t inspire much confidence.

Besides, the lack of television almost begged for her to open up a book for entertainment. If she could broaden her skills, say learn a language or two – after all, Doyle had said twenty-five years give or take – all the better. She just didn’t want to be the dumb slayer that relied on her friends and watcher to handle every aspect of research.

After dinner, Spike left her to her own devices, and Buffy used that time to jot down a quick note to the Marchioness letting her friend know that she’d gained her husband’s approval and inquiring as to when it would be convenient for her to begin her lessons. It took the slayer a moment to figure out how to work the quill, several drafts lying crumpled on her desk as she tried to word the letter just so, while keeping in mind her penmanship. Another few were spent unraveling the mystery of the Arundel seal. When she was finished, she eyed the letter with satisfaction before leaving the room to place it by the front door for delivery.

With nothing but time on her hands until they had to leave for the Marquess home, she decided to wander the grounds out back. She would have grabbed a book from his study, but was loathe to interrupt Spike while he was entertaining guests in his sanctuary – apparently discussing business with the other two vampires, and a third man – someone she’d yet to meet.

The hours seemed to slip by as Buffy walked along the paths of the garden, stopping often to peer closely at a particular flower. The gardening staff was most helpful in naming the different blooms, warming to their topic at her obvious interest. She listened attentively, surprisingly interested in the different aspects of how they bred certain species. All part of the bettering herself mentality.

After a thorough discussion and several pointed questions, she moved off, leaving the men to their work. The sun dipped behind the horizon and darkness fell. And still she meandered through the garden. It was peaceful here. Quiet. The serenity of the gardens allowing her mind to wander, to think about all she’d like – no, needed – to do to prepare for whatever it was that was coming.

At the edge of their property line, near the brick wall that enclosed their estate, she found some lawn furniture – table, chairs, a few chaise lounges. Stretching out on one of the lounges, she stared up at the sky towards the stars that seemed to shine much brighter than in Sunnydale. The lack of electricity not causing that glow that seemed to settle over her hometown city and casting a pall upon the sky.

She felt him before she saw him, her eyes not as equipped with the night vision as his were. Times like this, it was her slayer sense that she relied on to tell her when a baddie neared. Buffy turned her head towards the path she’d wandered down, knowing that it was there that he’d be coming from.

Sure enough, moments later, he came into focus.

Her eyes slid over his frame, taking in the disheveled look he pulled off with such aplomb. Walking sex was what he was. His movements, his attitude, that sexy smirk and, oh man, that tilty thing he did with his head as he appeared to guess what was on your mind.

God forbid if he could read hers right now, for she’d be blushing to the roots of her hair.

She watched as his grin widened, and Buffy nearly groaned aloud as she remembered what her chaperone had once said.

“Vampires…they have an excellent sense of smell.”

“What’r you doin, pet?”

“Nothing really. Just looking at the stars. Funny how the lack of electricity seems to make them brighter, ya know?”

“Been out here an awful long time just to look at the stars…”

“Well, I did walk among the gardens first. I didn’t realize you employed so many people just to make everything out here look so pretty. A couple of them told me how they breed some of the flowers to create new colors and such. Never knew you could breed flowers, thought that was strictly for…” Her voice trailed off as her face flamed. God, did everything lead back to sex with her? Buffy was just glad it was dark outside.

Spike coughed around the slayer’s embarrassment. Thoughts like that would have him late for dinner with his “father.”

“Come on, pet,” he coaxed, reaching down to help her from the lounge. “Time to get ready for supper. Don’t want to be late.”

“What time it is?”

“Going on eight o’clock.”

“Already? I’ve been out here that long?” she wailed as she rushed to her feet. “I’m never going to be ready in time.”

Buffy moved to pass him and rush back into the house, but a firm grip about her waist held her back.

“Spike…” she whined. “I don’t want to be late.”

Spike loved to see the slayer flustered like this. Reminded him of the time he’d told her about her chaperone…

He placed a chaste kiss upon her lips and told her, “Bath should be ready about the time you make it upstairs. Wear the dress your maid has laid out.” Turning her around, he swatted her behind to get her moving.

Her glare promised retribution as she hurried off. Something the vampire looked forward to with much anticipation.

Chapter 35

Buffy was excited, yet nervous, as the carriage ambled along the path on the way to the Marquess’ home. As with Spike, she’d retained all the memories she and the older man had spent together, his kindly manner as she’d scrambled to prepare for her elaborate wedding to his son. Remembered his hope that he’d live to see her give birth to the next Chadsworth heir – knowing now that his wish would never become reality. But, the conversations mocked her naiveté at the time, thinking that such an event might occur, how she’d blushingly told Spike’s “father” that she wanted a whole passel of children.

In the month preceding her marriage, he’d become her surrogate father, learning shortly after his son’s proposal of her own “parents’” passing. (He’d kept the secret so as not to prevent the marriage, pleased with his son’s choice in a wife.) Only their relationship had been much different than what she’d apparently shared with her own parents of this time – the fictitious characters created by the false memories of the spell and elaborated upon by the Powers. The Marquess had actually talked with her; his stiff, reserved nature relaxing in her presence, his outward affection trying to make up for what he’d lacked in giving to his son, prior to their rift.

Recalling her own relationship with her real father, the one that had left her and her mom, thus precipitating their move to Sunnydale, the slayer found herself being selfish. So what if he wasn’t really her father-in-law? He didn’t know that. And, if she could hold tight some sliver of fatherly affection? Something that had been denied her so long she wasn’t aware that she missed it. Craved it.

Yep! She’d take it, thank you very much.

But, she knew that she was going to feel bad for misleading him…for getting his hopes up. And that was something she didn’t want to do.

“Wha’s wrong?” Spike had watched the slayer fidget in her seat for the last ten minutes, a frown marring her face as she seemed to carry on an internal debate with herself.

“Nothing.”

“Right…You’ve just been sittin’ there wringing your hands for no reason then, yeah?”

Buffy glanced down at said hands before lifting her eyes to look at him. His expression seemed open – as if he were genuinely interested in whatever it was that was causing her distress. It confused her, unnerved her. Made her just open her mouth and blurt out an explanation. About how she didn’t quite know what to say around his “father.” How she didn’t want to misstep or lead him on.

Spike, in a move completely out of character, actually listened to the slayer voice her concern. Pulled her onto his lap to hold while she spoke. His eyes were drawn to the necklace resting about her neck, her fingers idly caressing the large pendent nestled between her breasts. It had been an impulsive purchase of his. The jade necklace brought out the green in her eyes, just as the gown she wore had. He liked seeing her wearing things he’d bought – even if he had to rationalize in his mind by saying that as the Marquess of Chadsworth’s heir, it was expected that his wife would constantly be draped in jewels.

Still…

Her reaction had pleased him. The promise of how she’d show her gratitude later placating his demon for the time being. She’d fingered the bauble in awe as he’d draped it around her neck once she’d been dressed.

“It’s beautiful, William. Thank you.”

She’d called him William, not Spike. Although she’d been looking right at him as she’d said it. Her pleasure had become his…his inner poet thrilling at the slayer’s obvious enjoyment of her gift.

“Spike?”

Spike shook his head, returning to the present.

“Sorry, luv. Don’t rightly know what to tell ya. Yeah, you’re gonna have to lie to him. Prolly to all them. Hadn’t thought that far ahead myself, actually. Jus’ been wingin’ it. Doyle didn’ exactly give me a play-by-play manual when we showed up.”

Buffy frowned, unsure how to proceed. She was just about to open her mouth again and speak when Spike cut her off.

“I do know you’ve got a good heart. You’ll not hurt the man. Jus’ do what comes naturally an’ everything will fall into place.”

“I…” He’d shocked her. Honest and truly shocked her. Oh, she knew that he was different, but to witness first hand his seeming “humanity.” That he could understand her feelings and almost sympathize. Offer suggestions.

It triggered a whole new awareness within the slayer. Skewed her outlook on demons – vampires – as a whole.

“Thanks.”

Spike didn’t respond to her whispered gratitude, appalled himself at the words he’d shared. What the hell had made him say that out loud? Let alone be thinking it in the first place.

~*~*~*~*~

Dinner with the Marquess was a wonderful affair. He spent the majority of the time regaling them with tales of William in his youth, and Buffy was constantly covering her mouth with her hand to hide the smile that seemed a permanent fixture upon her face. During particularly enlightening tales, she would hazard a glance at the vampire seated across from her to see his disgruntled expression – and if vampires could blush, she was sure that his face would be flaming at some of the comments from the elder man.

In all, it was a peaceful interlude in the usually fast-paced world of the ton. With just the three present, they didn’t stand upon ceremony. Instead, clustering to one side of the dining table so as not to shout at one another. They were allowed to be themselves… well, as much at the slayer and vampire were able.

And when talk inevitably turned towards begetting the next heir, Spike surprised her by assuring the Marquess that the matter “was being seen to” – which had the slayer blushing profusely, and Spike leering suggestively (the heated look performed while his “father” had his eyes on her, of course); and it made her blush all the more, causing her to duck her head to hide her reaction to him. Evil vampire!

Unfortunately, Spike wasn’t as stealthy as he liked to think.

The shout of laughter caught them both by surprise and they turned towards the elderly man laughing uproariously in his seat. Buffy grinned, pleased to see him happy – even if she didn’t know what it was that had caused the man’s merriment. Her delight soon turned to concern as the Marquess’ mirth turned into a coughing fit that left him gasping for breath and Spike calling out for assistance.

The servant standing by the door soon returned with the butler. As the senior servant knelt by the Marquess’ chair, Spike barked out, “What’s wrong with him?” He’d smelled the blood the elder man had eventually coughed up, even though the butler had tried to hide the evidence of his master’s sickness.

“It’s influenza, m’lord. I’ve sent for the doctor, but it’s best we get him in bed.” The butler moved to get the Marquess to rise, but Spike shoved the man out of the way, easily lifting his father into his arms and striding purposefully from the room.

~*~

Buffy wasn’t quite sure what to do. She wanted so much to follow Spike up the stairs, but refrained, instinctively knowing that it would be unseemly for her to be inside the elder man’s bedroom. Instead, she paced the length of the dining room, waiting for word. For Spike to reappear and tell her that the Marquess was going to be just fine.

About an hour later, time she’d spent imagining the worst, Buffy was startled by the reemergence of the butler.

“Lady Thornton?”

Since Buffy had been waiting for the pricklings along her neck indicating Spike’s return, she’d tuned everything else out. So much so, that her name was called three times before she was aware of the servant’s presence.

“M’lady? The doctor is with the Marquess and the Earl right now. It…it may be some time yet. Would you like me to move you somewhere more comfortable? Say, the drawing room?”

The slayer shook her head. “The study…I’ll wait in the study.”

“As you wish…if you would follow me please?”

She nodded and walked behind the servant out of the room.

Once in her father-in-law’s sanctuary, she moved towards one of the oversized chairs in front of the fire. Oblivious to the butler, she curled up on the seat and prepared to wait for news of the Marquess’ health.

The butler, upon seeing the girl’s lost look, had a fire started, along with a tray of tea brought in. Buffy smiled her thanks at the man as the service was set beside her chair before staring off into the flames.

And she waited…

~*~*~*~*~

Spike stuck to the shadows as the Marquess’ valet set about preparing his master for bed. Death seemed to cling to the old man, as if it knew it was just a matter of time before he’d be meeting his maker.

The vampire didn’t like being here, yet knew it was expected of him. The parallel between this man and his mother’s situation had not gone unnoticed. Why he even cared about his fate was a mystery to him – Spike barely even knew him. Even if the vampire had enjoyed the other’s company upon occasion.

It was as if the time spent here in the past was starting to rub off on him. Tame him.

To a point.

The doctor, when he showed up, just confirmed the vampire’s suspicions that the Marquess would probably not live through the night. The advanced stage of his sickness all but signifying the man’s imminent death. He knew the slayer wasn’t going to take the news well. Would, in fact, rage against the so-called Powers that had seen fit to keep her here in the first place. But, it was probably better this way.

Better for the old man to go before she’d become too attached to him. Too embroiled in the lies she’d have to tell.

~*~*~*~*~

Spike looked up from the latest correspondence on his desk. He needed a break. After becoming the next Marquess of Chadsworth on the death of his “father,” the slayer and he had left London and the whirlwind season behind, retreating to Chadworth Estates to observe the traditional mourning period. In the weeks following his death, the slayer had been inconsolable. A time the vampire would cheerfully love to never have repeated again.

She’d played the grieved daughter-in-law, garbing herself in the oppressive black gowns, as was custom – so much so, that Spike began to hate the color. He’d hated to see her so morose, so despondent at the man’s death. Doing nothing but staring out into the gardens of their new home. Her passion snuffed so that she barely responded to his touch – which had really sent his demon into a fit.

At the beginning of the third week, he’d snapped, drafting a note to the Marchioness and telling her to present herself at his doorstep with all possible haste. Two days later, Renee had arrived and been led immediately to her grieving friend. Her presence seemed to be working, because a few days later she’d sought him out in his study.

Their joining had been wild…and bloody. The violence of that act could still make him hard just thinking about it. She’d cried throughout, but he knew that it wasn’t from his actions. If anything, she’d spurred him to mark her…and he had. Her body had looked like a bloody pincushion by the end of the day, but she’d not seemed to mind. Had in fact curled up trustingly next to him on the floor and finally slept.

Later, he’d carried her back to bed.

They’d never talked about that day, but he knew that she thought about it. Would catch her watching him at inopportune times, as if remembering what it had been like. How it could be between them again.

So, he’d waited. And while their nighttime activities had returned with a vengeance, they’d never been quite as violent as that time…nowhere near, in fact. Yet, the promise was there…

Shaking his thoughts from that day, his mind turned towards the slayer. His wife. Somewhere in the huge monstrosity passing itself off as a house, she and the Marchioness of Haversham were no doubt engrossed in the slayer’s studies. Something his wife had taken to with a vengeance after that night. Like it gave her some sense of purpose. The single-mindedness of her actions annoyed him at times. Oh, he knew he was being unreasonable, but he didn’t care. He wanted her to think of him with that same fierce passion…like he was thinking of her.

Groaning at the erection straining against his trouser, Spike decided to seek out his wife, see what she was up to. Maybe the sight of her surrounded by dusty volumes of mindless dribble would soften him up a bit. He shuddered at the thought, his mind reverting to his human days spent in the company of his stodgy tutor.

‘Oh yeah, hard-on effectively killed.’

Still…

Anything had to be better than going over mindless legalese on the condition of his expanded estate.

Pushing away from his desk, now that his decision had been made, Spike left his study behind and began his search of the mansion for a hint of his wife. After walking around for a good twenty minutes without any sight of either female, he was just about to make his presence felt when he scented her blood on the air. Panicked, he took off running, bursting into the room he knew her to be within.

And skidded to a halt as he caught sight of the female combatants.

Garbed in the attire of traditional fencers, their slight frames were accented by the cut of the cloth. He leaned against the wall and watched the match unfold, sensing instinctively the vampiress skill. Even outmatched as she was, his slayer was a sight to behold, and his eyes gleamed as his lust returned with a vengeance.

Spike knew that she was aware of his presence. That both of them were aware. Yet neither looked over to him. Instead, their eyes remained locked on the other, the steel-on-steel clash of the rapiers ringing throughout the room. In a sudden burst of speed and power, the vampiress had the slayer flat on her back, the tip of her blade at the girl’s throat.

He reacted without thinking, flying across the room, a warning growl sounding in his throat. The master vampire had the Marchioness pinned against the wall ready to tear her head off when he felt the slayer’s hand upon his arm.

“Spike?”

His amber gaze spun towards her, searching her face for any signs of distress. Other than the confusion she exhibited, he could see no other indication of upset. In fact, her face seemed to shine with vitality.

“How long?” he ground out.

Buffy didn’t even think about lying.

“About two months.” She could see the question on his face and rushed on before he could ask. “I was bored. I’m the slayer, Spike. I’m used to fighting. Besides, I need to keep my skills sharp, and while reading and learning is helping me in other areas, I need this too.”

He cocked his head to the side, regarding what she’d said. Something was nagging at him. Letting the vampiress go, he turned towards her, trying to place whatever it was that she had told him.

Buffy smiled…waiting. It was a secret she’d been keeping from him, having always downplayed her learning whenever he deigned to show himself during her studies. But, right now, she was like a child, bursting to impart her new skill.

“Vous avez parlé le français!” (You spoke French!)

“Yes,” she replied, beaming. “Je suis venu très loin puisque fait les études au Bronze. (I’ve come a long way since my studies at the Bronze.) Never mind…but, about this…you’re ok with it?”

“Seulement si j'obtiens pour jouer aussi, l'amour.” (Only if I get to play, too, luv.)

Who knew that Spike speaking French would make her knees go weak? She swallowed hard, giving up on even trying to hide her arousal. The flaring of his nostrils proved to her that it had not gone unnoticed, and Buffy licked her lips in anticipation of him pouncing. Her jaw dropped when he sauntered out of the room, calling over his shoulder, “Vous tombez votre épaule, mon cheri.” (You’re dropping your shoulder, my dear.)

The slayer stomped her foot in exasperation. One, because she knew he was right, and two, because he’d just walked away…leaving her horny as hell. Damned vampire!

Renee, witness to their exchange, laughed delightedly after the master vampire had departed. Her friend had come a long way this past year. After the death of the Marquess, Lord and Lady Thornton had slipped from the limelight and back to the Chadworth’s estate. The vampiress had every intention of giving her friend the prerequisite year of mourning – her being human and all – but a letter she’d received not long after their departure urged, well, more like demanded, the Marchioness to join the couple in the countryside. She’d packed a bag, intent on spent a fortnight with Buffy and Spike, and had ended up spending a month – before she’d been forced to return to London to see to her own affairs.

For the next year, she’d been a constant companion to Buffy, leaving her side for only brief periods of time. Several others of the Aurelius clan had also visited, the vampires not caring about the enforced mourning period of the master vampire – it being more of a human trait than a vampire’s.

It was during these times that the slayer got a better insight into how vamps interacted. Yes, there were instances when something was done that had Buffy blinking in wide-eyed astonishment – sex, and their lack of inhibitions during the activity, being the key factor. But, as a whole, their sense of family, honor, and loyalty was astounding. There was nothing that any of the frequent visitors wouldn’t do for Spike…or her.

Looking at her life now, having spent a year primarily among vampires, she wasn’t surprised at her changed outlook. Had the Powers suspected? Was it what they’d wanted? If it wasn’t, it was their own fault. What could they have expected, pulling her away from whatever might influence her to behave differently, thrusting her into a world where she was claimed by a vampire, constantly surrounded by them…one even her best friend.

Buffy glanced to where Renee stood laughing at her, frowning as her friend sensed her predicament but offered no sympathy.

“Well… you’re the one that let him walk away. If it were me…” Renee responded to the slayer’s look.

A determined glint came into Buffy’s eyes and she shot out of the room, hot on her husband’s trail.

Chapter 36

The man-ish fit of the fencing outfit made it very easy for Buffy to race after Spike – no cumbersome skirts to slow her down. Even so, he’d still managed to put some distance between them. Almost as if he knew she’d be coming after him.

The sneaky vamp!

She tore around the corner and saw him swaggering down the hallway on his way towards the staircase. Seeing red, she launched herself at him, determined to take him down and make him pay for teasing her.

Her battle cry resounded in the deserted wing as she flew through the air, although, it probably hadn’t been the noise that had alerted the vampire to her presence. Over the past several months he just seemed to know when she approached, eerily so. When her body slammed into his, he was facing her. Then he maneuvered himself in such a way as to take the brunt of the impact when they connected with the carpeted floor.

No sooner had they made impact that she was on him, her fingers tearing at the fastenings of his white, silk shirt – eager to feel the sculpted muscles of his abs. Her lips and tongue kissed and nipped at his flesh as each little bit was exposed to her, the direction of her mouth taking her closer to the bulge straining against his breeches.

His groans and growls struck a cord with her, and she managed to rein in her lust, a gleam coming into her eye.

‘Tease me, will he?’

Her fingers worked over the stays of his trousers allowing his cool, hard cock to jut free from its confinement. She gripped him hard, knowing how much he delighted in her rough treatment. He cursed her, his rough, “Fuck, slayer,” an endearment she’d long since grown used it. After a nice hard squeeze, she pumped her fist up and down along his shaft, a secret smile curving her lips when he swelled even more in her hand and a few pearly drops appeared at the slit.

Buffy lowered her head, eager to claim the small prize, proof of his need for her. She licked the creamy fluid off the head of his cock with her tongue, swirling it in her mouth, savoring the taste. Smiled knowingly when his hips bucked as he tried to get her to swallow him whole.

Not that she would mind, not in the least, but paybacks were a bitch and she was just the bitch to do it. But, not a complete one, as she allowed her lips to part and give him one long suck, even swallowing while she had him deep in her throat – knowing what it did to him.

Then she was off. Jumping up from his body and racing back the way she’d come. Knowing she’d pay for what she’d done…

~*~

So caught up in the sensation of her mouth on his cock, it took Spike a minute to realize she’d left him. When he did – heard her devious laughter as she disappeared back around the bend – he jumped to his feet. Pausing long enough to secure his pants around his hips, Spike ran after. Thrilling to the hunt.

As his demon features graced his face, he breathed deeply, her arousal like a beacon drawing him to her. With the size of his ancestral home, and his unfamiliarity with this unused wing, it took him awhile to finally catch up with the slayer. Her use of the various hidden passages – of which she seemed to have extensive knowledge – had him backtracking quite often. Just when he thought he had her cornered, that he’d finally get a chance to finish what she’d started, she seemed to up and disappear.

He could have called to her through the claim, but a sense of fair play kept him from employing that tactic. Kitten wanted to play, and honestly, Spike was rather enjoying the chase. It appealed to his demon. A foreplay, if you will.

The longer he stalked the slayer, the stronger her scent became. Until he could practically hear her taunts. Berating his hunting skills. He learned why when he rounded a corner and glanced down to see the fencing uniform in a balled heap upon the floor. Images of what she might have been wearing – or not wearing – beneath the costume had his nostrils flaring as a wave of lust slammed through his body. His cock made its presence felt, telling him to hurry up and end the game – that it was tired of playing already.

For once, his two heads were in full accord.

It was time to end this farce and claim his prize.

~*~

Buffy was tired of running. Just like the stubborn vamp to draw out her fun until she’d been nearly panting with need. Removing her dueling attire had been a last ditch effort for him to end the chase and catch her. Knew it was probably driving him crazy wondering what she might or might not be wearing. If it wasn’t for the fact that the slayer knew with certainty that this wing was deserted, she would never have been caught running naked down the hallway.

At it came to an end, she let herself into the bedroom, figuring she’d make her last stand within. She shut the door, then slid the bolt home – just so he wouldn’t get any ideas that she was giving in too easily. She was…but he didn’t need to know that.

Her gaze darted about the room, looking for a place to hide. Completely pointless, true, but still. Appearances had to be maintained. Eyeing the chifforobe, Buffy figured that was as good a place as any. She opened the long door and slipped inside, crouching so that she could spring out when he finally revealed her hiding place. Then she settled in to wait.

~*~

Spike paused before the room at the end of the hall and listened. He knew she was inside. The telltale signs of her arousal, as well as her increased heart rate, easily giving her away. An unfair advantage, to be sure, but he didn’t care.

His hand closed around the knob and turned, eliciting a frown when it didn’t open.

‘Bloody chit locked the door.’

He would have laughed outright at her last, defiant act, but didn’t want to alert the slayer to his presence outside the door. Spike needed to figure out a way to get inside without breaking the bloody thing down.

It came to him a moment later, and he backtracked to the preceding room and slipped inside. With as many secret passageways as he’d been through in the last hour or so, he figured one more wouldn’t be out of the question. It was just a matter of finding it…

Using every enhanced sense given him, he went over the connecting wall with a fine-toothed comb until he found the catch that released the shelf unit, which lead to a narrow corridor between the two rooms. Spike left the trap door open, allowing a small shaft of light inside the secret passageway to aid his preternatural sight in finding the lever that would allow him to slip into the other bedroom. If he wasn’t so intent upon his task, he would have laughed at the man that had had the mansion designed. Randy ole goat to be sure! Devious too.

Moments later, the second door fell open and he stepped inside and scanned the seemingly vacant room. He cocked his head, his eyes zeroing in on the clothes cabinet on the wall to his left.

The master vampire swaggered to the huge piece of furniture, ready to claim the spoils as victor of the hunt. His hand reached out, ready to close around the knob and open it, when it suddenly burst open and he staggered under the weight of the naked slayer as she launched herself at him. Naked. Her bare limbs clinging to his waist and neck.

He fell back a few steps before righting himself, then turned swiftly towards the bed.

~*~

Buffy’s fingers went to work on Spike’s pants, ending up tearing them in her haste to free his erection. If he wasn’t buried inside her in the next few seconds, she was going to go crazy. The loose cloth slipped easily from his hips to pool around his ankles, nearly sending the couple to the ground as the vampire took his next step, his stride now hampered by the chain-like bindings of the bunched cloth.

She didn’t care, she was going to be flat on her back soon enough. Ground, bed…they were one and the same. As Spike was forced to decrease his stride, Buffy took matters in her own hands. Just reached between their bodies while he tried to walk, grabbing his shaft and guiding it to her moist opening so that he could slide home.

Their dual moans of satisfaction resounded in the room as she lowered herself on his cock, her inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth.

With him seated deep within her pussy, Buffy was now content to wait until he’d made it to the bed. But, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t get him to hurry it along with a nibble on his neck; his ear; his full, bottom lip. She’d just closed her lips around it, sucking it into her mouth, when she felt herself being lowered on the mattress still covered by the bedspread.

The four-poster bed provided just the right height. Allowed him to stand against the side as she laid there, their bodies still intimately attached. She squirmed, eager to have him move now. When she would have sat up, a cool hand forced her to lie still. To wait for whatever was going to come next.

She frowned at him at his high-handedness, but did as he asked. And was rewarded by a slow, deep thrust of his cock inside her quim. Buffy bit her lip as she felt him deep within her core, just barely grazing her sweet spot. Just enough to feel his presence.

“Like that, pet?” he whispered huskily, trying to control his own lust. Seeing her laid out so invitingly, her eyes practically begging him to fuck her – and fuck her good – nearly made him forget his resolve to torture her a bit for her earlier stunt. His blue eyes raked over her features as she nodded frantically, noting her flushed face and how she submitted to his dominance – her actions controlled by nothing more than the feather-soft touch of his fingers on her stomach.

“Tell me you like it.” He pulled all the way out of her slick passage, stifling his own groan at leaving the moist heat of her tight quim. The tip hovered at her entrance, and he flexed his hips, allowing it to just barely slip through her outer folds.

“I like it,” she gasped out. Her ankles tightened about his waist, and she tried to draw him back inside. He resisted her attempts, smirking down at her. Watching how her body seemed to vibrate with tension. Waiting.

Deciding he’d held back long enough, Spike gripped her hips and surged back into her, relishing the tiny gasp she made. Her fingers fisted in the coverlet as his cock slid in and out of her passage, the slow, steady rhythm driving her higher and higher.

Buffy wanted to touch him. To feel his body pressed against hers, his cool flesh tempering the heat radiating from her body. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and convince herself that this was real. That each time they came together, this would be the time that she’d finally be able to slip past the barriers the vampire kept firmly in place to prevent him from voicing his feelings.

And she knew he cared about her. His actions this past year had proved as much.

She just wished he’d say something…

Buffy found herself lifted suddenly, her hands automatically going around Spike’s neck as he turned and sat on the bed. She took advantage of the new position, increasing her pace as she rode him. His grip about her hips steadying her, even while the pushed her for more.

Harder.

Faster.

Always more.

His face was a mask of tormented pleasure – eyes closed, jaw clenched…the sexy snarl he did when she thrust her hips a certain way – and if she hadn’t had her face buried in his neck, she might have seen it. But, she was too set in her task, desperate for the release that didn’t appear to be happening any time soon.

It was like her body was over-sensitized. And she nearly wailed at the thought of not being able to come.

So she rode him harder and faster, a fine sheen of sweat soon coating her skin.

Spike was ready to spill himself inside the slayer. The little act she’d pulled in the hallway, followed by their subsequent “hide and seek” had ensured that this first time would be over with rather quickly.

Unfortunately, the slayer wasn’t quite with him. And, he was determined to have her with him.

Opening his eyes and willing himself not to come, he slipped one hand from her hip to her clitoris, hoping the added stimulation would send her over the edge. He watched as she arched away from his body, sobbing at this new assault on her tender flesh.

Buffy stilled atop him, helpless in her reaction as his fingers worked her sensitive nubbin. Her body grew taut as he played with her clit, lazy circles that did more to incite her, rather than giving her the release she craved.

She sobbed his name, begging him for her to end her torment.

In answer, Spike leaned back so that his back rested against the mattress, bring the slayer with him as he went. He rolled them – their bodies still intimately joined – so that she was beneath him. Lowering his head, his lips claimed hers in a kiss. Soft, gentle nips at first until her lips parted as she sought to increase the intimacy.

If someone had dared ask him where the gentleness had suddenly come from, he couldn’t have said. All he knew was, right now, at this moment, he was savoring his slayer’s growing responses to his tender, almost loving, touch.

And she didn’t disappoint. Clinging to him as if she’d never let him go. Her fingers digging into his back as she held him close, tried to pull him even closer – almost as if they could actually merge and become one.

He didn’t question it. Just fed off her seeming desperation.

When she started to move her hips, signaling her desire for him to move, he complied. His lips left her mouth to nuzzle his mark as he began to thrust in and out of her slick passage. She felt so good, so hot, and he strained to bury himself deeper. He could hear her blood calling to him, the bounding cadence echoing in his ears. Spike licked his lips in anticipation, not surprised when his tongue grazed fangs instead of blunt teeth.

Didn’t seem like a day went by that he wasn’t tasting her. As much as he hated it, she was in his blood now.

The bed was creaking under the force of their movements now. Their softly spoken words of encouragement whispered between them as their bodies strained towards release.

Spike’s movements were erratic, his hips pistoning back and forth…faster and faster until he felt the slayer begin to convulse beneath him as her orgasm hit. His fangs struck their mark and she cried out.

He froze, tearing his mouth from her neck to stare down at her in shock, the words tumbling from her lips completely eclipsing what her inner walls were doing to his cock. But soon his body’s demands exerted their will and he reclaimed her neck and pounded into her pussy, trying to drive what she’d said from his mind. He climaxed almost immediately, the litany of her words ringing in his ear.

No sooner had he spent himself that he was up and off her, slipping into his pants and tearing from the room as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He paid no thought to her stricken features, how he’d just left her without so much as a by your leave. His only thought was to get away.

And think.

Buffy looked at Spike’s – her husband’s – retreating form, her face a mask of pain and anguish. When he slammed out of the room, unmindful of the door, the slayer rolled onto her side, hugging the pillow beside her as her shock gave way to tears. Then outright sobs. Her slight frame shaking uncontrollably in her grief.

She’d driven him away.

Her words had driven him away.

Chapter 37

The servants took one look at their lord’s face and scattered out of his path. Something had upset him, and only a foolish person would remain in his presence and incur his wrath.

In the privacy of his study, Spike gave vent to the rage coursing through his system. The slayer’s repeated, “I love you,” like drums in his head, beating louder and louder, driving out all other thoughts. Those objects that found themselves in his way as he prowled around the room were soon thrust from his path to crumble from impacting with something of a harder constitution.

Eventually he wound down – although his thoughts were no less troubled – and he made his way towards the bar and the plethora of spirits just waiting to be had. The first glass was consumed in a matter of seconds; the second even faster. But, he knew before he’d even taken his first sip, that it wouldn’t silence her crying. Or the fervent declaration given in the heat of the moment.

His empty glass seemed to mock him, and disgusted with himself, with her, with fate in general; he threw it away and stalked to his chair behind the desk. He knew not how long he sat there in silence, mulling over what his life had become…but he was aware the instant he was no longer alone.

“I outta kill you, ya know,” Spike spoke without preamble, instinctively sensing the half-breed’s presence without actually having seen him.

“We’ve had this conversation before… ‘m just the messenger,” Doyle replied. He moved to the bar, all the while feeling the gaze of the master vampire upon his back. Snagging two tumblers and the jar, he walked over to the desk and plopped into one of the chairs set before it.

Neither said a word as the half-breed filled the two glasses to near overflowing, placing one within easy reach of Spike and downing the second in two long swallows. Doyle watched as the vampire mimicked his actions and held out the empty glass for a refill. He complied, doing the same to his own, then leaned back in his seat.

“What are you doing here?” Spike asked wearily. He was in no mood to deal with the Irishman right now.

“Well, you’ve got everyone in a tither. Thought there was going to be a bit of high-five-ing going around when the slayer finally confessed. Then you had to ruin what could have been a rather nice moment by rushing off.”

“Sod off.”

“Yeah…told ‘em you’d say something along those lines, only I was a bit more descriptive.” The two shared a brief look, equal smirks donning their face. Doyle may be fighting for the side of good, but there was a bit of rebel in him still. “But seriously… this denying what you feel is only making it harder on yourself, and her.”

Spike surged to his feet, knocking over his chair at the sudden burst of rage.

“Look…I did what you asked, though it stuck in my craw t’do it. Even married the bloody slayer,” he roared. “Nowhere did I sign on to love the bint.”

Doyle just watched him, unimpressed.

“Jus’ a means to an ends to get back t’ Dru. A vampire an’ a slayer…together?? ‘S not natural,” he argued. He paced back and forth behind his desk, his pent up energy forcing him to movement. Now that he had someone to listen, he spouted off his laundry list of grievances, not the least of which was that he was evil, and had the Powers failed to realize that? When Spike finally wound down and leaned heavily against the wall behind him, Doyle gave a flick of his wrist.

Like that first time when he’d had to convince the blond-headed vampire to claim the slayer, a slight mist appeared along with several images.

Getting a soul.

That last image shook him and he righted his chair and sat down.

“I get a soul for her?” he whispered aghast.

“I’m cheating a bit by showing you all this. But, essentially…yes. You fall in love with her and eventually hurt her, then go off and get your soul. That’s not the point, though.”

“What is the bloody point?”

“Things were never supposed to happen that way. Angelus was never supposed to be released. Never before had a slayer seen vampires as anything other than monsters. For Buffy to do so…well, talk about your proverbial monkey wrench.”

Spike just snorted.

“So, when Ethan caused this little time travel spell, the Powers thought to take advantage of the slayer’s makeup.”

“And made her fall in love with me.” God, even here, he had nothing of his own.

“No, we did nothing of the sort. Rest assured…she loves you. All we did was provide the setting. The reason I’m here is because you’re being so darn stubborn.”

“Well, pardon me for not doin’ wha’s expected of me,” he snarked. “I have mentioned the evil part, right?”

“William, you’re no more evil than I am…much as you like to fool yourself into thinking you’re the ‘Big Bad’. You’ve got too much of the poet soul inside you to ever be fully evil, even without a soul. Look around you. This is what you were made for. This shade of gray. Where humans and vampires coexisted peacefully…well, mostly anyway.”

“You’re wrong. I was made for Dru. She’s the reason I am.”

“She made you, true. But, she’s not your destiny,” Doyle argued. “She was just the stepping stone to guide you on your way.”

“No! Not Dru. We’re forever, Drusilla and me,” Spike railed. He dismissed the memory from his mind that negated those words, his eyes pinning the half-breed in place. But, he knew. Somehow, Doyle knew about that time with Angelus.

The fact that Drusilla had never let him claim her slammed into his gut with all the force of a freight train. How she’d never said she loved him. Even after her “daddy” had left. Like she just knew that one day that he’d return and was just waiting for that moment, biding her time with her childe until that day arrived – and by all appearances it appeared to happen not too far from their normal future.

That realization near brought him to his knees.

Doyle eyed the vampire with sympathy. It was a lot to take in, but better to get it all out of the way now. Leave no room for any misunderstanding later. He stood, walking over to where the vampire sat, gazing off into nothingness.

Placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, Doyle told him, “I can stay for a while if you like.”

“Nah… Tell me something, mate.”

“Sure. If I can.”

“Could we go back now? If we really wanted to…me or the slayer?”

“I wouldn’t say it was an impossibility.”

“And, if we did…would the same thing happen…like those pictures you showed me?”

“Yes.”

“Even—”

“Yes, even that. Face it, Spike. You were meant to be hers. Only here…here she loves you. Would you throw it all away?”

Spike was silent.

“You’re going to tell her.”

The vampire gained his feet and confronted the half-breed. “I’ll no’ be wonderin’ if she thinks about him. About ‘What if?’. Sure, she says she loves me, but if she had a chance to go home…what then?”

“Then, give her the chance and see if she takes it. I’m sure you’ll be quite surprised at her reaction. Only, you can’t tell her what’s to come. That little ‘peek’ was for your benefit…to make this an easier pill for you to swallow.”

Spike relaxed his stance when he realized he wasn’t going to have to fight his friend.

“And for pete’s sake, tell her you love her already and put me out of my misery!” Then, he was gone, leaving silence to descend upon his study.

~*~*~*~*~

The closer he got to the bedroom as he retraced his steps, the louder her crying seemed to be. Only her tears were silenced, her anguish unconsciously ripping into him through the claim. He didn’t know how she did it, how she’d managed to tap into what had heretofore been a one-sided deal. But, each sob that wracked her body called to him.

Made him hurry to right the wrong he’d done.

Spike paused just inside the door, his gaze taking in the huddled figure on the bed. She’d no more than rolled to her side and clutched a pillow to hold close before giving vent to her sorrow, not even bothering with the covers.

The slayer gave no notice that he was back, and his feet closed the distance between them until he was sitting on the bed his back to the headboard, so that he could pull her into his arms. His presence just seemed to make her cry harder, and it wasn’t long before his bare chest was soaked with her renewed tears.

With her snuggled up against his left side, he used his right to comb his fingers through her hair, fanning the darkened tresses down her bare back. His touch comforting, and for once, not the least bit sexual. There was something about her tears that got to him, and it just made it that much worse that he’d been the cause of them this time.

Gradually, her crying lessened, then faded altogether as she fell into a light sleep, lulled by his soothing touch and whispered nonsensical words. She didn’t sleep long, maybe half an hour. When she awoke, she seemed shocked that he was there…with her. Her confusion barely masked her hurt as she lifted her head from his chest to look at him.

He spoke without thinking, posing the question aloud so that he couldn’t call it back, no matter how much he might want to.

“If you could…if there were a way…would you go back right now?”

tbc...

Chapter 38

“If you could…if there were a way…would you go back right now?” 

In that moment, as Buffy stared up into his handsome features, she could imagine what he’d been like as a human.  Emotions so deep that they contradicted everything ever written by the Council regarding vampires were blazing from the depths of eyes so deep a blue their color couldn’t be properly described.  Hope.  Want.  Lust.  Fear.  Love.  A gamut of emotions he thought he’d been able to hide. 

But, she knew different.  Had learned each and every tiny nuance that would hint at his mood during this past year. Now, as she gazed upon his torn expression, she couldn’t help but ease the trepidation snaking through his body. 

“No.” 

Just one word.  One little word that allowed the final barrier to come crashing down. 

Before she could draw breath, Buffy found herself crushed beneath her husband as he rolled them over, his mouth plundering hers.  Making her prove herself in actions – that she was his and wanted to be with him.  Stay here with him.  To allow the hand that had been dealt them to play its course. 

Spike tore his mouth from hers with a groan.  “Gahhh…slayer.  Can’t…gotta…”  He rocked his hips against hers, reaching down with one hand to tug frantically at the fastenings of his breeches.  The moment his cock sprang free he was guiding himself towards the damp curls hiding her sex.  He felt the slayer’s hand on his hips, still shoving at the offending material as she tried to get his pants off.  But, he couldn’t wait, had to have her right now…and with a quick lunge of his hips he was sliding home. 

“Oh, pet…mmmmm…so wet for me.  Perfect,” he gasped as he lay there basking in the moment – the feel of her vaginal walls encasing his length damn near the most perfect thing he’d ever felt.  Beneath him, Spike could feel her feet as they slid down his legs, removing his pants as she went, only satisfied once nothing remained between them.  Then her legs were wrapped around his hips, holding him in place…allowing him to slip just a tad bit deeper – if such a thing were possible. 

For the first time ever, he was ruled by his emotions, his normal seduction of the slayer gone by the wayside in the face of her confession.  His reaction was instinctive – both demon and man were thrilling at the fact that she’d chosen him.  That he wasn’t just leftovers, seconds.  What one turned to when their first choice was taken.  

They wanted to stake their claim, laud in their victory. 

“Tell me again,” he murmured huskily in her ear as he began to thrust rhythmically within her wet heat. 

“W-wa…wanna stay…wi-with you,” she managed to choke out around his powerful thrusts.  She was so close, his cock hitting her just so when he ground his hips into her cleft each time he filled her. 

“Tell me, baby.  Tell me why you wanna stay.” 

“L-love you.”  

“Again!  Say it again,” he practically begged. 

“Love you,” she answered more forcefully. 

“Buffy…” he groaned. 

The sound of her name on his lips was her undoing; her body flew over the edge sure in the knowledge that he would catch her.  That he would be there for her. 

A moment later, his fangs unerringly found the marks he’d gifted her with upon claiming her.  Like the first time, he dug deep, demon and man in full accord.  The words wouldn’t come just yet, but he could give her this.  And just hoped she understood. 

He felt her gasp at the pain, and like a repeat of before, he ripped his fangs from her throat, leaning up on his outstretched hands to stare down at her in his demon visage.  His hips never relenting in his powerful thrusts as he watched her blood spill from his gash to begin a slow trail towards her collarbone. 

“You’re mine,” he growled possessively.  “Mine!”  

Something in his tone forced Buffy to open her eyes and stare at him.  With his demon prominent and her blood smeared on his face, she should have been scared…knowing that her death was imminent.  Even behind his yellow gaze she could sense that he wanted – no needed – something from her.  Going with her instincts, she raised her hand and caressed one side of the harsh ridges above his brow. 

He stilled with her touch, only she didn’t feel it, too intent on her task.  Her other hand lifted to copy the actions of the first.  A soft smile graced her lips as he attempted to lean into her hand – like a cat seeking the attentions of its master.  Her fingers continued their twin track down the outer edges of his eyes and along the sharp contour of his cheeks.  Applying slight pressure, she guided his head to her, enabling her tongue to dart out and lick at the blood coating his lips.  The metallic tang was no surprise, having tasted her own blood before. 

What did surprise her was his reaction to her tender ministrations.  The hard glint was back in his eyes.  She could feel the tightly coiled tension in his body as if he was waiting for some signal from her to let it free reign.  It caused a tiny shiver to race along her spine. 

Then she remembered. 

“Mine! Say it!” 

“Yours.  Now and forever.” 

“Blood of my blood. Forever marked mine.” 

“Yours….now and forever,” she avowed. 

It took all the control he possessed to not react violently to her words.  His demon was exalting at her capitulation, ready to take what had been given him without thinking.  But Spike wanted more.  Now that he’d accepted her love and was opening himself up to return it, he wanted the softness, the tenderness.  To just experience lovemaking without the cold manipulation he’d always employed in the past, as if to distance himself from her…and what she made him feel. 

So, instead of ravaging her body and staking his claim, he slowly lowered himself until he was lying flush atop her.  His human mask slid back into place as he braced himself on one arm and brushed her hair back from her face. 

Then he was moving.  Agonizingly slow strokes that stretched her inner walls as he filled her, leaving her bereft when he was gone.  Time lost all meaning – neither seemed inclined to increase their movements.  Rather, both languished in the unhurried pace, senses tuned to where his length glided in and out of her core. 

Spike watched her expressive face at each thrust, how she tried to maintain eye contact, only to lose against the onslaught of sensation.  The way she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out.  The feel of her hands roaming over his body, the soft caress alternating to having her nails dig into his skin as he surged back into her depths, played havoc with his ironclad control.  But maintain it, he did, determined that this time would be different – that she would know it was, even if he couldn’t express it himself in so many words. 

Their climaxes caught them completely unaware.  Buffy gasping in shock, eyes closed against the intensity as it ripped through her body.  Spike groaning as her inner walls milked him, just barely remembering to complete the claiming ritual as he filled her womb with his seed. 

“Blood of my blood. Forever marked mine.” 

Something he did willingly this time. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

Over the next several months, Buffy and Spike settled into a routine.  While the master vampire was ensconced in his study seeing to his vast holdings, the slayer spent her time with her friend, Renee.  With a strong command of the French language under her belt and a sudden thirst to learn more, she expanded her studies to include anything she felt an interest in.  And with such a good teacher and the one-on-one atmosphere – not to mention the fact that there wasn’t really a lot of distraction to prevent her learning, she excelled at whatever topic she undertook.  Her nose was constantly in some book or other, and when she wasn’t brushing up on her book-smarts, she was learning the art of fencing. 

This was when Spike would step in.  Sometimes participating…other times just watching the two women face off against each other. 

Their intimate circle expanded marginally to include others among the Aurelius line.  Viscount Sotheby was the first to learn of the slayer’s secret, only doing so at Renee’s insistence that he could be trusted.  Spike eventually told the Earl of Hawkingstone and the Marquess of Eaglethorpe himself, him having formed a bond with both men back when the slayer had been presented at her first ball.  

All three had been shocked, stunned that they’d been in a slayer’s presence and were unable to tell.  It had led to them telling the three the complete story.  How they’d been sent back in time and were at the mercy of the Powers as to their longevity of stay.  It was done so that in the event of their sudden departure, the vampires could smooth over their absence if there was need. 

~*~*~*~*~ 

“I’m tired of being a brunette,” Buffy complained to Renee, closing the book she’d been reading in a fit of pique. 

The vampiress glanced at the book of horticulture in the slayer’s lap and chuckled.  “From flowers to hair…that’s quite a switch.” 

Buffy stood suddenly, the unconscious grace of her movements not lost on her friend.  She’d come a long way in the year and a half that she’d been here. 

“I want to party.  I want to dance.  Not that I don’t love it out here in the country…but, London was nice.  There were people there!” she complained. Seeing her friend’s hurt expression, she rushed to her side, taking the vampiress’ hands in her own.  “Not that I don’t think you’re not people…’cause…well, you are.  It’s just…” 

“You’re tired of being cooped up,” Renee concluded. 

“Exactly.  And, I know I’ll no sooner be back in London a week that I’m dying to come back to the nice quiet life I’ve got out here…but I need a change.  Something.  Anything.” 

Standing, the vampiress pulled her friend to her feet. 

“Well, let’s start with your hair then, shall we.” 

Buffy smiled back. 

“Oh yes!” 

~*~ 

“Cut it,” Buffy pleaded. 

Renee looked aghast at her friend while the servant poised behind the slayer quivered in fear. 

“The Marquess would kill me for allowing you to do that,” Renee objected. 

“Just a little bit,” she whined.  “It’s just so heavy.  Maybe to the middle of my back?” 

Renee looked at the servant and nodded.  Heather visibly swallowed then did as she was bade, cringing as the first dark lock fell away.  Seeing her mistress’ excitement, however, was contagious and soon the maid was happily snipping away with her shears until the length rested at the bottom of her shoulder blades. 

When she noticed that Heather was finished, Buffy turned to where another was mixing several different batches of something. 

“Relax, Buffy.  Women have been coloring their hair for ages.  And, I have it on good authority that Sophie here does excellent work.  She’s from France, and the skill has been passed down in her family for several generations.” 

The slayer mumbled a polite hello in French.  She’d seen the girl a time or two, but with as large as Chadsworth Estates was, she really had yet to be on a first name basis with even half of the servants.  Still, the girl was doing her a huge service, and she spoke politely to her in French as the various mixtures were applied to her hair. 

~*~ 

“You’re bringing out the big guns,” Renee commented as she slipped inside the mistress’ bedchamber – said bedroom used only to house the slayer’s extensive collection of gowns and frippery; she slept with her husband next door each night.  Buffy was seated before her vanity garbed in the red gown the master vampire loved so much.   “How did you manage to avoid him all day?” 

“I hid,” she told her friend conspiratorially.  “As for the other…well, I figure between wearing this dress and having Byron, Clayton, and Alric present; he can’t very well yell at me, right?” 

“I think it’s safe to assume that him yelling at you will be the least of your worries,” the vampiress replied.  The two women shared a look before they each burst out laughing. 

“Come on,” Buffy replied, before she could lose her courage.  She looped her arm through the vampiress’ and walked towards the door.  “Let’s go see if his growl is worse than his bite.” 

On the main floor, the two women headed straight for the Marquess’ study, where the men were no doubt engaging in a pre-dinner beverage.  Buffy took a calming breath, then the two sailed into the room as if nothing were amiss. 

Spike was deep in conversation with the three male vampires but paused as he felt the slayer draw near.  All eyes turned towards the door where, a moment later, Renee and Buffy entered.  He’d sensed her nervousness as she neared and his brow had drawn together as he wondered what it was that could possibly be troubling her. 

As he got his first good look, well… if his heart wasn’t already unbeating within his chest, it would have stopped right then.  ‘This was what she was nervous about?’ he thought incredulously.   Mind consuming lust was instantaneous, and he excused himself from the three vampires with one thought running rampant through his brain. 

Buffy glanced over to where Spike was moving away from the others to slowly stalk her.  And he was…stalking her.  There was no other term that could describe his deliberate path. 

“Uh…William…”  She called him William around everyone else to keep in practice; Spike would hardly go over well among the rest of the ton.  “William…I can explain…” 

She took a step backwards, hiding shamelessly behind Renee as she eased towards the door.  When she peeked over her friend’s shoulder, she noticed he was getting closer, and a glance at the other males in the room revealed their amusement.  She took another step backwards. 

“Got the right idea, pet,” Spike told her.  “I’ll even give you a head start seeing as your legs are hampered by those skirts.” 

“But…Spike…” she wailed.  She’d yet to really get a good look at his expression.  If she had, she would have realized that anger wasn’t even close to what he was feeling right now.  The vampiress shook her head.  Like she’d told her friend, who’d clearly not understood her meaning, a good yelling was the least of her worries. 

“I assume, Lord Thornton, that we’re not to hold dinner for you?” Renee drawled.  

“Wait?  What?”  Buffy finally got a gander of Spike’s expression and a bolt of lust shot through her.  “I guess that means you like it?” she hazarded to ask. 

“Slayer, if you don’t want the others to see how much I like it, I suggest you get a move on.” 

Buffy darted for the door. 

Spike was right behind her. 

“Pour me a glass of that, would you, Clayton?” Renee asked as the study door slammed shut behind the master vampire.

tbc...

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